


scars to your beautiful

by Macremae



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Fluff, Genderbending, Recovery, Rule 63, gratuitous description of clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 19:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16603754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: That’s what the PPDC is doing, of course, inviting her to this gala. They want to show off Dr. Newton Geiszler, no longer the Precursors’ puppet, but the brilliant scientist who broke free of their heinous control. They want her to be well and happy and glimmering, all healed up from ten years of mind control and ready to socialize with people who secretly hate her. Oh boy.Or: Newt and Hermann dress up.





	scars to your beautiful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lvslie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lvslie/gifts).



Newt feels weird about this, all things considered (all things being the fact that she really, really shouldn’t be here, doesn’t deserve to be here, and just wants to go home).

She’s free now; that’s good. Look on the bright side, she supposes. No more Precursors knocking around her head and stinking up the place like flies. She’s all shiny and clean, a savior of the world for the second time running and ready to be paraded around like a hometown hero on display.

That’s what the PPDC is doing, of course, inviting her to this gala. They want to show off Dr. Newton Geiszler, no longer the Precursors’ puppet, but the brilliant scientist who broke free of their heinous control. They want her to be well and happy and glimmering, all healed up from ten years of mind control and ready to socialize with people who secretly hate her. Oh boy.

They tell her to dress nice, but after ten years of fancy suits and dresses Newt would rather show up in sweatpants and a hoodie. Still, she figures she’s got a crap ton of money to burn, so why not look good for the people she actually cares about?

Which, okay, let’s talk about that a bit. For the last few weeks, Hermine has only seen her covered in grime and blood, or in the comfiest clothes she can find. It might be nice to look pretty as herself for once. The Precursors put too much makeup on anyway.

Newt finds a dressmaker who doesn’t ask too many questions and shows her some ideas: nothing too tight or revealing, soft fabrics and colors, and lots of floaty material. She doesn’t want to feel like a high-powered business executive or a fashionista. Newt… well, she kind of wants to feel like a princess. Or at the very least, someone beautiful.

Because that’s the thing, really. The Precursors told her such horrible things about herself; that she was stupid and ugly and a worthless woman who could never be loved. Hermine has vehemently denied that, and encouraged Newt to grow confident in herself, but the words are still stay pasted to the back wall of her mind like twisted pages of a bible.

Newt’s grown wary of her body. She’s gained most of her healthy weight bac, but her wrists still feel a little too bony for comfort. Being skinny was… weird. She had a flat stomach and thighs that didn’t touch, and arms that got tired after lifting too much. Now she’s almost soft again, and her arms are bulking up from all the physical therapy, but none of her old clothes fit quite as well as before. 

That’s not terrible; Newt kind of likes being formless, but she really wants to relearn herself. She wants to feel kickass in her leather jacket, and bomb in her black skinny jeans, and maybe a little sexy in her favorite bra (hint hint, Hermine). Loving herself has never been easy, but Newt’s used to doing things the hard way. She’s promised to try-- not just for Hermine, but for herself.

So Newt sends in her ideas and gets the thing fitted and picks out a dress.

It’s a pale pink, with sleeveless bodice sprinkled with jewels, and thin straps that go over her shoulders. The skirt is full, made with endless yards of frothy tulle and sweeping over her hips like a fluffy cloud. It feels like a gentle caress, not hugging everything too tightly, but showing off her tattoos like a frame around art. 

Around her neck she clasps a thin gold chain, paired with small hoops in her various piercings. Her hair is down and loose in its wild bob, messy and curly as it brushes her shoulders. She twirls a finger in it as she pulls out her (far more extensive than she remembers) makeup collection.

Newt doesn’t exactly… remember how to put on makeup, but she tries her best anyway. A little concealer over her dark circles, a light wash of color around her eyes, and oh. Something different happens.

Newt feels kind of sort of pretty.

Her skin looks warmer and flushed, her eyes are soft and bright behind her nicest pair of glasses, and her lips are finally starting to heal from all those punches to the mouth (thanks _Lambert_ ). She looks like a fairy, or some kind of heavily tattooed cloud nymph. It feels… really nice.

With one last self-conscious tug at her her dress, Newt slides on a pair of ankle boots (she’s never wearing heels again) and slips her lip gloss into her pocket and rushes out the door. Tonight is gonna be very, very long.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Newt cannot believe how boring this is.

She’s talked to about a million people so far, all of them snooty and rude, most of them openly gawking at her tattoos. And, y’know, Newt doesn’t care. She’s hurt and she’s healing, and Hermine’s proud of her for getting better. Fuck what everybody else thinks. But it’s still weird to be surrounded by people when, several months ago, she was being held in a cramped cell all by herself.

Speaking of Hermine, Newt has no idea where she is, and is starting to worry. Being more than a few yards away from her makes Newt kind of nervous, which might be a problem, but she’s got enough of those already.

She looks around, nails digging into her palms as anxiety rises hot and coppery in her throat, before spotting a flash of silver by the wall. Breathing a sigh of relief (she would know Hermine’s cane anywhere), Newt moves towards her, craning her neck to get a better view.

And then she stops. And stares. And loses her breath to the air. 

Hermine looks _celestial_.

Her hair, usually tousled and poofing over her undercut like a mushroom cloud, is slicked back like oil over alabaster skin. She is wearing a crisp white pinstriped suit, tailored to fit her wiry form like a glove. Her face is bare, cheekbones stark and sharp enough to bleed, and she’s looking out over the crowd with an expression of droll, composed boredom.

Basically, this is every fantasy of Newt’s at once.

She hurries over, stepping towards Hermine shyly and brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. Hermine notices her and smiles widely, her eyes lighting up.

“Newton,” she says softly, reverently, looking her up and down. “I… oh. Look at you.”

Newt blushes and looks away. “Yeah,” she mumbles, staring at her shoes, “‘look at me’, I guess.”

Hermine takes a step forward and holds Newt’s hands in hers. Her fingers are long and slim, cool against Newt’s sweaty palms. She bends down and kisses the top of her hand like a regency gentleman, looking up at Newt through her elegant eyelashes. Newt swallows hard.

“You,” says Hermine in awe, “look-- beautiful.”

Newt’s face is on fire. “I-- I hoped you’d think so,” she mumbles, following Hermine’s gaze as she stands back to her full height. “This sure wasn’t for any of those other weirdos.”

A look of surprise passes over Hermine’s face. “You did this… for me?”

Newt nervously rubs the back of her neck with her hand. “Well, yeah, dude. You’re… amazing. Gorgeous. Pretty much absolutely fucking perfect. I wanna look nice for you, Hermine. You deserve it.”

Hermann brushes her hand across Newt’s cheek. “Newton,” she says, “you don’t have to dress yourself up for me. You know I adore you however you look.”

“I-- I know. And that’s crazy to think about, but I know you wouldn’t lie to me, so I guess it’s true. But I also want to feel pretty for me. And I know you like it when I feel good about myself, so…”

With a radiant smile, Hermine curls her fingers around the edge of Newt’s jaw. “I do. I very much do. And I’m very glad you’re enjoying yourself tonight, dear.”

Newt barks out a laugh. “Oh hell no, I’m not enjoying this party thing at all. I’d rather be in our room making pancakes with just a t-shirt on, but I guess people need to be convinced I’m not crazy.” She rubs her neck again. “Jury’s still out on that.”

“Newton,” says Hermine almost warningly, and Newt chews on her lip. 

“Right. Sorry. Not crazy. I’m a good person, and I don’t deserve what happened to me, and I’m using positive imagery and coping skills to build my mental health toolkit. Better?” She quirks an eyebrow up.

Hermine sighs good-naturedly and drags her hand down to rest on Newt’s shoulder. “I suppose. Just remember that the opinions of others don’t matter, yes?”

“Hermine, you know that’s not true. For me, or you.”

Hermine fingers the head of her cane and looks away. “Yes, but… well, some of us have a bit more choice in the matter.”

Newt nods. “Okay, fair point. A cane is a little more visible than autism, I’ll take that.” She brings up a hand to rest over Hermine’s. “But you’re not alone in this. We’re in the same boat here, and I kind of get how you feel. I know you, babe.”

Hermine turns her hand over and laces their fingers together. “You do. You certainly do. I will concede that.”

With a tap of her foot, Newt glaces at the ballroom floor. She pulls their clasped hands down and swings them back and forth.

“Wanna dance?”

Hermine smiles like a sun coming out. “Oh, Newton. I thought you’d never ask.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It’s a slow song finally, languid and dreamy like Newt’s dress as it sweeps across the floor. Hermine holds her with delicate hands, fingers pressed up against her back. Newt has her arms around Hermine’s neck, hands clasped behind it, swaying like a teenager at prom. It’s very, very romantic.

Newt leans her head on Hermine’s shoulder. “Hey,” she says into the space between them. “I’m really glad you’re here tonight.”

Hermine presses a kiss to the top of her head. “As am I, darling. I know galas like this aren’t exactly your cup of tea--”

“Ha! Yeah, you’re right about that one.”

“ _But_ , I’m proud of you for being here. Having other people see you as a person again will go a long way towards improving your reputation, and that will make things so much easier for you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Newt says. “I still hate fancy parties, though.”

Hermine grimaces. “And you think I don’t? Being forced to dress up in fancy clothes, standing around all night, having everyone watch me? Dear Lord, it’s a nightmare. I couldn’t possibly think of anything more unpleasant.”

Newt nods against her. Then, she smirks. “You still look hot as fuck in that suit, to be honest. I kinda want to keep you all to myself.”

Hermine goes scarlet. “Some decorum while we’re in public, please,” she whispers, but Newt can feel the pleased energy all the way through the Drift. 

“Shush. I know you like it when I compliment you.”

With a huff, Hermine pulls her closer. “Perhaps. You’ll just have to experiment a bit more.”

Newt grins. “Uh, okay, challenge fucking accepted. Let’s run through the list: you’re literally the smartest person here, you can fill a chalkboard like your life depends on it, you’re, like, insanely pretty, you have cheekbones that could cut glass, your lips are super fun to kiss, and hey: your love is so powerful that it literally saved my life. That enough for you?”

Hermine ducks her head and makes an embarassed sound. “Newton, please--”

“Oh wait! I’m not done--”

“Newton, really--”

“Shush!” Newt hisses lovingly, bumping Hermine’s shoulder with her head. “I’m complimenting you. You’re witty as hell; I have no idea how I won most of our arguments--”

“I _beg_ your pardon?”

“-- it’s kinda crazy. You’re funny and awesome and crazy good at beating people with your cane, which, let me just say, was probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Your smile could make flowers grow. I’m pretty sure you’re literally an angel. And, oh yeah, you basically invented an entirely new form of physics all by yourself. So, ha ha on you, you’re amazing. Deal with it.”

Newt finishes this off with a smug smile, which Hermine leans down and kisses. It’s soft and sweet, like practically all of their kisses these days, and Newt presses closer to capture her lips fully. They slide together like pillows, Hermine slipping her a little bit of tongue, and Newt fights the urge to sigh. Kissing Hermine is just about her favorite thing about being free. Like, ever. 

Hermine is a panopticon, one that she is very happy to spend the rest of all time with. That’s for sure. She feels her foot pop up behind her, and hears some whispering, and maybe a few stares, but for the first time in a long time, Newt Geiszler really, really doesn’t fucking care.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @bae-science or twitter @callmenewto


End file.
